Bones

my only pure friends are the skeletons in my closet. in the end, they're isolated in truth. we spend so much time flossing the lies from our teeth, blind to see that these ivories were made for integrity. could it be our flesh exists only to absorb deceit, and our blood only to preserve lies? to stagnate dishonesty until a falsified truth is extracted. until this extracted truth crawls into our framework. here, there are no lies. i dream of the skeletons in my closet. yes, my dreams are only bones, to dance among veracity.